ing
a love letter, was not so much within the scope of the writer's
peculiar powers.

DEAREST SOPHIA,

I hardly know how to address you; or what I should tell
you or what conceal. Were we together, and was that
promise renewed which you once gave me, I should tell you
all;--but this I cannot do by letter. My mother's trial is
over, and she is acquitted; but that which I have learned
during the trial has made me feel that I am bound to
relinquish to my brother-in-law all my title to Orley
Farm, and I have already taken the first steps towards
doing so. Yes, Sophia, I am now a beggar on the face of
the world. I have nothing belonging to me, save those
powers of mind and body which God has given me; and I am,
moreover, a man oppressed with a terribly heavy load of
grief. For some short time I must hide myself with my
mother; and then, when I shall have been able to brace
my mind to work, I shall go forth and labour in whatever
field may be open to me.

But before I go, Sophia, I wish to say a word of farewell
to you, that I may understand on what terms we part. Of
course I make no claim. I am aware that that which I now
tell you must be held as giving you a valid excuse for
breaking any contract that there may have been between
us. But, nevertheless, I have hope. That I love you very
dearly I need hardly now say; and I still venture to think
that the time may come when I shall again prove myself
to be worthy of your hand. If you have ever loved me you
cannot cease to do so merely because I am unfortunate; and
if you love me still, perhaps you will consent to wait. If
you will do so,--if you will say that I am rich in that
respect,--I shall go to my banishment not altogether a
downcast man.

May I say that I am still your own

LUCIUS MASON?

No; he decidedly might not say so. But as the letter was not
yet finished when his mother and Mrs. Orme returned, I will not
anticipate matters by giving Miss Furnival's reply.

Mrs. Orme came back that night to Orley Farm, but without the
intention of remaining there. Her task was over, and it would be well
that she should return to The Cleeve. Her task was over; and as the
hour must come in which she would leave the mother in the hands of
her son, the present hour would be as good as any.

They again went together to the room which they had shared for the
last night o